Four Reasons
by Kuroi Diamond
Summary: While being the only girl may seem rough, it's really the girl who makes things rough for them. Butch, Charon and Jericho's travels with the Lone Wanderer.
1. Authors Note

**With the Broken Steel add-on, you are given the opportunity to exploit a certain glitch that enables you to get all companions. Since my favourites are Charon, Butch and Jericho, I've been running around with them for a few days and it has created a weird idea for a series of unconnected stories about a female Lone Wanderer living with all three of them. **

**I swear it's not all porn. :D**

**It's all multi-themes and multi-lengths and such from here on in. I just hope you enjoy my drabbling.**

**~KD**


	2. Jericho: Cuddle

* * *

It pissed him the fuck off.

Even if it _was_ sort of cute…

And Jericho scowled even harder at that, because maybe he'd been out of the game longer than he thought. Maybe too long. Had he gone soft? Aw, hell…

He shouldn't have been thinking it was _cute_ he told himself as he glared at the kid, the other kid and the damned ghoul all fucking cuddled up together on the beaten mattress they'd dragged from the big bed earlier that evening. Even the _dog_ was curled up at the end of it, dozing.

In this case, the Ghoul was probably the most _standable_ of their little group of misfits. Jericho knew at least he had to be ordered to join in the cuddle orgy, but that didn't mean he'd missed the gawdawful tender light in his eyes whenever he looked at the kid.

Now the _other _kid… Well, he was obviously just getting while the getting was good. If Jericho had known that he'd have to put up with teen hormones, there'd have been no fucking way in the Wasteland he'd have taken up the kid's offer… Or at least he would have asked for more caps.

"Jericho' the kid called sleepily "C'mon, join in." She gave a long, lazy smile at the ex-raider and _damn_ if it wasn't infectious. Jericho struggled to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up, rapidly taking another drag on his smoke to cover it up.

"No thanks, kid.' He muttered "I ain't exactly into that kind of thing if you couldn't tell."

The kid frowned "You know, if you're going to be a frowny face all night, you've got your own house to go back to." Jericho almost cringed at that. He _hated _his house in Megaton. Alcohol and Nova's rack weren't the only reasons he could be seen in Moriarty's more than his own home. 25 years he'd been a raider, sleeping in open spaces. His Megaton shack always made him claustrophobic and the kid's house was infinitely preferable.

"_Fine. _I'll join the fucking orgy." He said resignedly, slipping his assault rifle off his back and placing it on the table. He wondered just how the hell he was supposed to fit; the other kid was snoring softly with his arms around the kid's waist; face pressed into her hip. The ghoul had his eyes closed for once, though Jericho doubted he was asleep, and sat propped against the wall with his legs folded beneath him and the kid's head in his lap.

He gingerly lowered himself onto the mattress and lay down on the edge stiffly. The kid shook her head.

"Nuh-uh. C'mere." She said, patting her thigh. Jericho rolled his eyes and moved closer, putting his head where he was told to. The kid's hand rested on his shoulder and she sighed contentedly.

"That's… More like it…" She said between yawns.

Minutes passed and Jericho eventually relaxed. The other kid was snoring like a 'Guai, the Ghoul seemed to have drifted off amazingly enough. And the kid… Well, she was making adorably soft breathy noises that made Jericho want to roll his eyes in disapproval while at the same time patting her on the head.

Hell, she pissed him the fuck off.

But even so, she was still kind of cute…

* * *

**I challenged myself to write Jericho fluff. Because Jericho rarely gets any fluff. Poor, foul-mouthed unfluffable ex-raider that he is. XD**


	3. Butch: Jacket

* * *

Butch wondered what it was that everyone in this stinking, barren wasteland saw in that teacher's pet, goodie two-shoes.

Well, ok. He _got _what they saw in her. Probably the exact same thing he saw in her that day when she came out of that room with his mother wiping Radroach guts off her cheek and told him she was safe. Butch could never tell anyone how much he'd wanted to take that annoying, smartarse beauty in his arms and kiss her like they'd spent their lives being something other than enemies.

Instead he'd give her his jacket. That's gotta mean something, right? He'd sure seen the surprise in her eyes, especially when he'd let slip he'd always kind of liked her… But he'd stopped himself from letting on just how much. Butch had learnt that _I love you _was a helluva lot harder to say than _cry home to your daddy, nosebleed. _He'd spent a long time thinking it was better to say the complete opposite of how he felt, because the complete opposite of how he felt didn't make him seem like a sissy.

Thing was though, who the hell was there to think he was a sissy? Here, nobody knew him except her. Things were different out here and _fuck _Butch wasn't stupid. He knew he was no Einstein or whatever but he was far from being dumb and no matter how much she humoured him, they both knew there was no place for the Tunnel Snakes out here and maybe, just maybe, Butch was ok with that. The ghoul guy didn't seem to give a fuck what anybody felt about anyone so long as he could keep playing bodyguard and the raider dude seemed happy so long as he could smoke and shoot at things and overall, Wasteland people seemed to care more about not dying than they did about Butch.

So why couldn't he come straight with her?

What if she laughed at him?

Worse yet, what if she laughed at him and kicked him out? Butch felt a tingle of panic run up his spine because he had nowhere else to _go._ His eyes sidled to where she sat slumped in a chair. She'd only just managed to wiggle out of her armour before she'd collapsed, exhausted from lugging scrap metal to that guy in Underworld and getting back again. She'd insisted they rest when they got there, and had promptly gone off to help the guy try and repair whatever shit was broken that time. When they'd all woken up after a solid eight hours, she was still pounding on some old heater, trying to get it to run. The ghoul guy had suggested she rest, but she'd shook her head, insistent that they get back to Megaton because she had to deliver a letter from Carol to Gob.

He wished he'd backed the ghoul up. Butch didn't like this guilty feeling creeping up into his throat and sitting there like an overstuffed Molerat and he hated seeing her so damn drained. He watched her shiver a little in her thin tank top and ridiculously short shorts and sighed, getting up and padding over to her quietly. Shrugging off his jacket, he tucked the worn leather around her gently, careful not to wake her up.

Smiling slightly, he walked away. He didn't know if he would ever be able to shake off his damage and tell her how he felt or not, but one thing Butch DeLoria did know was that he would stick with her no matter what, so long as they both lived. And hell, even though he still knew it wasn't much, he would always be around to give her his jacket.

* * *

**I always thought the jacket thing was kind of cute. And Butch isn't really a bad guy or anything. I love him to bits. Maybe not as much as I do with Charon, though… Did I just make a really insensitive joke about the ghoul condition? Yes I did. Charon's next!**

**~KD**


	4. Charon: Imperfect

* * *

Charon slammed the shack door. He'd never been one for the slamming of doors, it generally being a good way to blow your cover and get your ass shot up, and he'd really never been one for throwing a temper tantrum either.

But… She'd called him _zombie_ and hell if that wasn't an unwelcome surprise. The fucking saint of the Wasteland who loves everyone, skin flaking off or not, calling him zombie burnt good and deep and _damn_ if it wasn't a first-fucking-class reason for Charon to do some door slamming for once.

_She's drunk. She doesn't mean it_ he found himself thinking and simultaneously wondering why in the hell he was taking it so hard. Problem was, Charon having been a bouncer in a bar for the lousier part of sixty fucking years knew that there was a good chance she _did _mean it. The percentage of drunken people who got more honest far out-weighed the percentage who just said shit all the time. And screw all you Wastelanders who think that it's the other way around, thank you very much.

Charon knew that his employer would be following him up the stairs any second now. The girl did not take people turning their backs on her and refusing to speak lightly. Not two months ago Roy Phillips had slaughtered the entire Smoothskin population of Tenpenny towers after the four of them had spent a good portion of time and ammo hunting him down in a train station infested with ferrals to tell him Ghouls were now welcome in the damn place. When his employer had asked if he was proud of himself Roy had told the girl it was none of her business and that she'd get out if she didn't want to join the rotting corpses in the basement.

_That_ Charon thought _She could have handled. _It was when the idiot made the mistake of turning his back on her that a .308 calibre bullet promptly liberated his head from atop his shoulders.

"The conversation is over when I say it's over, asshole." She had said coldly, slinging her Victory rifle onto her back.

The Victory Rifle was _not_ an inside or close range gun and the entire room (not to mention Jericho and Butch, who'd not _quite _managed to dodge) had been painted with blood, brain matter and skull fragments. It was also a very _loud _gun and they'd had to run goddamn fast to get out before a rain of bullets hailed down on them.

_Scratch that off the list of places we're still welcome…_ He thought grimly. His employer was not a bad person by most standards; one doesn't become the Hero of the Wasteland by blowing away every dumbshit who pisses them off. It's just that whereas most Wastelanders had tempers on the shorter end of the scale, his employer's temper was something akin to a frag grenade; once activated it could not be stopped, leading up to a particularly violent explosion.

In the time Charon had known her, they'd been run out of a number of settlements because Three Dog's "saintly" Lone Wanderer had snapped. In the Republic of Dave, it was the so-called president whose brain had ended up on the floor ("Chauvinistic bigamist") In Rivet City it was Sister ("They'll come around when they realise he was a filthy slaver") In Fort Independence it was Protector Casdin ("The only thing that compassionless fuck is protecting is his own future") and god-_damn _if they weren't on shaky ground in Little Lamplight. Luckily, there was no way his employer would snap hard enough to kill a kid but the little bitch in the pink dress was probably still displeased over her newly off-centre nose. Yeah, that particular incident had cost them a chunk out of their caps and more Buffout than they would normally have to trade for Lamplight's cave fungus, but MacCready had eventually said they could still come around to trade and what-not… Provided they handed over their weapons and didn't stay _too _long.

Thing was, Charon was fully unused to her taking her anger out on him. If she was angry, it usually wasn't a member of their party who bore the brunt of it, but a Raider, Slaver or particularly thankless Wastelander. It just so happened this time that he was the one dragging her drunk, unwilling ass out of Gob's that she'd come down on him.

It was lucky that she'd said what she did _outside_ that piss-hole Charon thought, because while he was taking the "get your fucking hands off me, zombie!" comment badly, Gob would probably be putting a 10mm in his mouth and pulling the trigger. That kid worshipped the Lone Wanderer and considered her his rescuer even though it was never _proved _that it was her who Shady Sands Shuffled Moriarty down to hell.

Thinking about Gob got Charon wondering; maybe she _didn't _mean it after all. His employer had after all risked her home in Megaton to free Gob from that conniving Irish bastard and nobody would do that for somebody if they thought they were just some zombie. Maybe she didn't mean it… But it didn't mean she had a fucking right to go and say it anyway, drunk or not.

The heavy clang of his employer suddenly racing up the metal staircase brought Charon's milky gaze to the door which was promptly kicked open and as she stormed in. Her eyes were blazing with a look he'd seen in her eyes many times before. The look said; you have exactly five seconds to explain yourself.

"You walked away.' She stated "From me." Charon nodded and she took a threatening step towards the Sentient but he stood his ground.

"Without orders… You walked away.' She continued and he nodded again.

_Step _

"From me."

_Nod, step._ She now stood right in front of him.

"You know I don't like it when people turn their backs on me." She said and Charon scowled.

"And if you permit it mistress, I don't like it when people call me zombie." He grated out, aware of just how much he was overstepping his bounds with her but at that moment not giving a damn.

She glowered at him "Goddamn it, Charon I didn't _mean _it. If I cared what you looked like I wouldn't have fucking bought your contract.' She paused, flicking a lock of hair from her eye "I was pissed off and too shit-faced to walk. All I wanted was to make you angry."

"So you insult me because you are pissed off.' Charon said slowly "This does not seem reasonable to me, mistress."

"I don't care, Charon!' She yelled "Have you taken a good look at the world? Everyone has to vent their anger somehow, or we'd all fucking explode!'

"Perhaps.' He said gruffly "But one does not usually expect to be vented at by somebody they have spent the last seven months protecting and serving."

"For good or for ill, right?' She snapped "Hell, that's part of _why _I can't help but be a bitch to you too. All you ever do is that; _protect and serve_. It's like living with a statue half the time, Charon. You're like stone. And I don't _want _a stone. I want a goddamn human _being!_" She shouted the last part and Charon clenched his fists.

"You have two human beings downstairs probably wondering why you are being so loud.' He said from between gritted teeth. "Perhaps you should return to them?" Her eyes blazed.

"_No!_ I want you to start acting… Acting _real!_" She yelled.

"And how would you have me do that… _Mistress_?" He asked. His gravelly voice was laced through unmistakably with venom, but she refused to back down.

"_Get_ angry! Vent!' She snarled, pushing at him though knowing she may as well be trying to move a boulder "Don't walk away; show some real fucking _emotion _for once!" Charon swatted her hands away and looked down at the young woman, an unfamiliar look in his eyes.

"Is that an order?" He asked softly and quite dangerously. The girl either didn't notice his tone or chose to ignore it as she stepped closer, purposefully getting in his face.

"I've got a damn good mind to say it is." She hissed.

Two things happened then.

One, his employer suddenly found herself pushed roughly against the shack wall by her shoulders and two, she found her feet where no longer touching the ground, as all her weight now rested on Charon's knee where it was fixed firmly and unmovable between her thighs.

Startled and blinking, the girl's fear was soon replaced by anger "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" She yelled, beating her fists against Charon's shoulders. He simply grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head before answering her calmly;

"Venting." He growled.

His head bowed to her neck and she gasped as his rough lips caressed her throat "You said to vent my anger, mistress.' He murmured "And since you are the sole cause of it, you must now face the fact that you are the one it is to be vented upon."

"Charon… This isn't what I…" She trailed off as his ruined fingertips traced down her spine and rested at the small of her back.

"What you expected?" He murmured and she nodded, but looked into his eyes, her own glazed with unmistakable want.

"But don't stop." She whispered. Charon's lips crushed to hers then because even if she had said to stop, he wasn't sure if he could anymore…

Hours later with his employer asleep beside him, Charon stared at the ceiling lost in thought. He couldn't call it calming her down, but at least she wasn't ranting and shooting him in the face.

The ghoul couldn't help but grin slightly.

"Hey…" Her voice, soft and thick with sleep made him look at her. His employer smiled apologetically at him, her half-lidded eyes threatening to close "I never said I was sorry for… What I said. Sometimes I just forget the world around me and more importantly…' her hand rested on Charon's chest "the people who mean a lot to me." His hand came to rest atop of hers.

"Apologies are not necessary, but thank you." Charon said and she smiled then yawned.

"Think Butch an' Jericho heard any of that?" She asked and Charon smirked.

"This house does not strike me as the most soundproof, mistress." He replied and she snickered softly.

"The day isn't done 'til I scar someone for life. Two in one go… Is pretty good." She said sleepily.

Charon watched his employer drift once more into sleep and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

She wasn't perfect. Oh no.

She was imperfection at its finest.

* * *

**Warning! This chapter contains themes of ghoul porn- oh it's the end of the chapter. Hahahaha. Longest one yet. And probably not the only pornish one either. Since they don't really connect, the wanderer will probably not be thought of nicely in all the stories. We shall see, yes?**

**~KD**


	5. Jericho: Need

* * *

I think I hate Jericho. I really, really do.

It's not the way he smokes like a chimney, swears like a sailor and drinks like a Lurk. Hell, those things don't earn him gold stars and happy faces but they also don't make him any different from any other asshole Wastelander.

No. The reason I hate him runs deeper than that…

You know, all I ever hear from people in Megaton is how I'm crazy to hire the "ex" raider, the "ex" psycho, the "ex" murderer/rapist. They're always there in my face with a brand new ex every single goddamn day.

Thing is, none of them seem to realise this about raiders; raiding is for _life_. That's what any of them will tell their little raiders or you if they can stop trying to cut your legs off for the time it takes to chat. That particular disease runs deeper than the flesh; it's like a parasite that bores into the soul. Anybody could see it if they had the balls to look into Jericho's eyes. They're bright black and alive, a stark contrast to his tired face.

And me, the fearless Vault Kid, just had to go looking into his eyes and think how useful he'd be out in the Wastes.

Right. Talk about a fucking big mistake. Yeah sure, he _is _useful; always pointing out possible sniper positions and warning us when we're straying too far into open ground. Useful. Strictly in a tactical sense.

Charon and Butch don't like him. Of course, they don't like each other either but they get along about as well as can be expected in the Wasteland. When it comes to Jericho, I don't think either has said more than three consecutive sentences to him for the entire time we've been travelling around. Charon of course doesn't say much in the first place, but I get scared that even Butch shuts the fuck up around Jericho. DeLoria would gladly talk a mile a minute to a Deathclaw if he thought he could outrun it, but when Jericho is around he descends into a silence to rival Charon's.

I could handle the smoking and the drinking, the swearing and people's comments, even the uncomfortable silences between him and the others. I could hack all that, but there is the one thing about him that I cannot stand which makes everything else I can meaningless;

Jericho thinks he loves me and I absolutely loath him for it.

I want to scream that it isn't love when we sometimes end up sharing a bed roll when we travel…

I want to kill him because it isn't love when I wake up in the middle of the night to his hands kneading my ass and his hot breath on my ear…

And god… I just want to curl up and die because it still isn't love that I lean into his rough, artless groping and whisper my pleas for him to fuck me.

It would be fine, sick, but fine if he was just using me the way I wish he was because at least then we'd be on the same page. Letting him do those things to me, letting him make me feel all those amazing, filthy things to distract me from my dead father and impossible mission would be oh-so perfect if he would fucking quit thinking its love.

When he rolls off me and I'm staring up at the night sky, sweat-slicked and panting, the last goddamn thing I need is to hear him say "I love you." Because when he says those words, reality comes crashing back down on me like the stars falling out of the sky.

So I hate Jericho. I hate him because he refuses to let me forget that I'm human and he's human and we're both supposed to feel these stupid goddamn human emotions like love and hate. But I can't pull myself away from him because I need the unreal feeling he gives me and I need the hate to sustain me through this world where I am forever surrounded by clouds of blood and pelted by rains of bullets.

I've never lied to Jericho. I'm cruel and I'm a killer and I hate with all that's left of my heart, but I'm not a liar… Because every time he says he loves me, even as the stars come crashing down from the sky, I will whisper the same thing without fail;

"_I need you, Jericho.._."

* * *

**I hope that wasn't totally disjointed. I thought it would be good to have a few of these where it's from the Vaultie's point of view. :D **


	6. Butch: Pink

* * *

It was pink.

It was also blob-shaped and cold.

But most importantly, it was _pink _and anything that was that pink after sitting in a freezer for two hundred years frightened him.

Butch raised an eyebrow at the dubious substance in the bowl and looked at his fellow Tunnel Snake. She gave an encouraging and hopeful smile and Butch sighed inwardly. Tentatively, he dipped his spoon into the pink menace and took enough to be polite, but not enough to make him gag if it turned out to be as horrible as it looked.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Butch put the spoon into his mouth…

And his knees went weak.

The Hero of the Wasteland grinned knowingly "It's better than sex, huh?" She said, swirling some onto her own spoon and licking it. A delighted shiver ran up her spine and she closed her eyes, savouring the taste.

After a few moments of awed silence, Butch finally found his voice and a cocky smile lit up his face as he winked at his female companion.

"I might just have to prove you wrong, girl."

And the Lone Wanderer blushed as pink as the strawberry ice cream she was eating.

* * *

**I've had this pathetically sweet idea in my head for a while, and originally it was different and with Charon, but I figured Butch worked better anyway. :D Hmm, first one not to mention the other boys. Of course, they are not forgotten~**


	7. Charon: Push

We were perhaps an hour into the Wastes when my employer suddenly turned around and _stared _at me.

"Charon, are you scared of heights?" She asked in complete (and rare) seriousness and I frowned more so than usual.

"… No." I replied at length and she continued to stare at me, her eyes slowly narrowing.

"Y'know, you don't have to _lie_. Butch and Jericho aren't around to laugh at you or anything." She gestured in the general direction of Megaton where the other two members of our party waited as I struggled to process her words.

"If you permit it, may I ask where this is coming from?" I asked and she shrugged.

"Well, every single time we need to get down a cliff or something, you always look for a way _around_. It's not very fast." Her reply was.

"And climbing down is not very safe. It is a function of my contract that I try to minimilize risks to your safety." I intoned and she blinked then laughed.

"Oh, Charon! All this time I was worried that it was cos you're actually a big fraidy Ghoul under all that muscle and armour…'

I scowled.

"… But since it's just you being worried about me, it's ok.' A particularly unnerving grin had appeared on her face "Boy, it's a relief that you're not scared, because we've gotta start moving faster!" She started walking over to me then, and I was surprised when she gently rested her hands on my chest.

"What are you doing?" I breathed and she looked up into my eyes as her arms slowly encircled me.

"Charon…' She whispered "… Hold your breath."

… _**What?**_

My employer suddenly pushed me with all her strength. This normally wouldn't have done much, her being neither all that big nor all that strong, but it was enough to make me stumble back a couple of steps. That normally wouldn't have done much either, except that in this case a couple of steps back lead to a rather long drop off a rather high cliff.

"Holy shit!"

Even though with our combined weight we hit the water below in perhaps a few seconds, it was still enough time for my entire life to flash before my eyes. Being a ghoul, my life hasn't exactly been short either. The freezing cold radioactive water that invaded my nose and mouth reminded me that _swimming _usually helped when forced into these situations and I began to kick towards the surface, my employer still clinging to me.

I wonder if she knew that ghouls don't particularly relish getting wet. Even though the radiation heals us, it does have an inclination to soften out our skin and make it peel off easier.

It's never a pleasant sight to see some of what little left you have of a thing floating away downstream…

"Are you _crazy_?!" I snarled at her the second I broke the surface and had my breath back. She simply laughed.

"That was brilliant, you were _so_ scared." She giggled as I kicked towards the shore. It was only my contract that prevented me from removing her from my shoulders and holding her underneath the water until the bubbles stopped.

"You're fucking insane." I growled and dumped her into a patch of mud. She shrieked indignantly and I felt a little better.

"You got me muddy!" She yelled.

"You got me wet." I replied calmly.

She glared at me for a while and I began to wonder if she was going to punish me for my actions. Perhaps she'd make me carry her all the way to Northwest Seneca Station. Nothing would surprise me after that.

Then… She began to laugh. A big, warm sound that was infectious and annoying in the sense that it made me not want to be angry at her anymore.

"I'm sorry, Charon.' She said when her laughter died down, though a big grin remained on her face "I did the same thing to Butch and Jericho, The only way I could make 'em stop trying to kill me afterwards was to say I was going to do it to you too."

I sighed.

"You are truly the most insane employer I've ever met...' I said and offered her my hand.

"But perhaps, you are at times the most interesting too."

Her grin widened slightly as she took my hand and I helped her up. "Did you just compliment me?" She asked, brushing mud off her pants. I couldn't help but smile.

"If you permit me to say so, don't get used to it." I said and she rolled her eyes.

"Come on big guy. Murphy's waiting on his Sugar Bombs."

As we walked along, slowly drying off in the early morning sun, I stole glances at my employer; I'd never met anybody like her. There were Smoothskins who hated Ghouls and those who preached dogmatically that we were just the same as everyone else. My employer was one of the few who honestly saw no difference. I could always count on her to treat me like an equal and for that, I could only be eternally grateful.

… Even if she did push me off a cliff and laugh.

* * *

**This was going to be chapter two in my other Fallout story, which is now discontinued as a standalone piece. I may rewrite the first chapter and include it here. **

**This chapter is based on all the people who take the quick way down in the game and get pissed off that the followers won't do the same. :D**


	8. Jericho: Everything

* * *

Stop fucking lookin' at me that way.

Stop pretending you care, stop acting nice, and god-_damn_ it would you stop crying?

Please stop crying…

Look… We both _knew _something was wrong when I hacked up blood and we both saw that there were getting to be more times when I'd need to stop to catch my breath. We both saw they were lasting longer too.

Don't you damn well go and say you haven't been expecting this.

You don't need to try and explain what advanced-stage epidermoid carcinoma is. It's not important. All I need to know is that sooner or later, my lungs are going to give out and I won't be able to breathe. Then I'll die and you, your ghoul and your boyfriend can have a nice life without me.

I know you don't even feel as sorry for me as you do for yourself. I don't need you to treat me special because you're feeling guilty for every time you've been a bitch and I _don't _need you to kiss me when you're crying and looking like total shit. Just save it.

I probably taste of ash and blood…

Don't try and make up for anything. I really don't care. I don't _want _a taste of what you keep under that skirt and I don't _need_ a pity fuck when it's for your sake, kid. Just put your shirt back on, get off me and get the fuck out of my face.

You've got some nerve. Did you know that kid? You're crying and acting hopeless when you're the doctor and I'm supposed to be the patient. I ask and you say you're crying for me because I won't. You're goddamn right I won't. I don't cry. Ever.

Besides, death ain't even sad. Death is as real as the sun in the sky to everyone out here, but hell. You're a vault kid. You don't know a damn thing about death. I've lost friends and family twice over to the fucking ravages of the wastes you know, and I've moved on. Just like you should do. I don't even need to be dead for you to do it.

Kid… I'm not going to leave you yet. I'm not going to die the second you let go of me and I'm not going to be useless just because there's a countdown over my head. Let's just pretend it's all the same and do what we do best. All your crying is making me want to shoot something, anyway.

I know I'm a sick old man, kid. But I was a sicker old man before you came along. You helped me get back out there and live the way I always have. You don't owe me anything, kid. You don't need to do anything nice for old Jericho; you don't need to climb on for a while so I can fuck one last time and you don't need to cry so I can feel like somebody actually cares about me for once.

No kid. I'm not going to stop; I'm going to keep going. I'm gonna be by your side until the gasping, choking, bitter end whether you like it or not.

Because it's not you who owes me anything. Not at all…

It's me who owes you everything.

* * *

**It kind of clicked with me that Jericho is actually dying and it made me kind of sad. There's obviously no way he's gonna get treatment for advanced lung cancer in the Wasteland, so I wrote this to make me feel a little better.**


	9. Butch: Without

* * *

It had been two hours since she had died and Butch couldn't stop howling. Jericho had stuck him with at least three times the safe dose of Med-X and still he could not stop.

It hadn't been a pretty death. It wasn't a melodramatic, heroic leap in front of a bullet that left her dying in Butch's arms, telling him to go on with his life. It was an ugly, messy, sudden end that kept Butch screaming so long and loud that his throat bled.

Nobody deserved to be torn apart by a pack of Trogs. They'd been pinned down in The Pitt's steelyard, their ammo dwindling and time running out as the monsters threw themselves against the fragile gate they had locked themselves behind.

She'd passed around Stealth Boys, but there had only been three. Charon insisted she take his and she'd simply ordered him to use it, a sad smile on her face.

"Get out of here.' She said, a hand resting on the Ghoul's worn cheek "I'll distract them and you'll be able to get away before the Stealth Boys wear off."

Butch and Jericho had both protested, but she had shaken her head. Her hands shook too as she hugged them, but she didn't cry. She never cried…

The second their Stealth Boys activated, the gate broke and the creatures swarmed in. She'd cleared a path for them with her rifle and they'd run for their lives. For a few moments, Butch had thought she was running close behind him, but when he'd turned…

He'd never forget the look in her eyes as the creatures pounced.

He'd never forget the screams… He'd never forget the blood and the _sounds _they made as they tore her apart…

Butch began to scream even louder and Jericho kicked him in the face.

Waking many hours later, his face swollen and tasting blood, Butch couldn't clearly remember what had happened. He'd asked for her and when he had seen the look in Charon's eyes, the tears came. This time they fell silently as Butch curled himself into a ball, too full of grief to speak or move…

Days later, he got up and for a moment could only gaze around the room at her possessions. Butch then dragged himself out the door with not so much as a glance at his housemates and made his way to the bathrooms where he lay back in a tub full of cold, irradiated water…

Suddenly it was a week since she'd been gone and Butch still hadn't said a word. He slept and ate and bathed mechanically, falling into a strict ritual that never changed for any reason. Eventually Charon packed his gear and left, presumably for Underworld, without saying goodbye. Then Jericho tried to head out on his own and nobody heard from him until a week later when he dragged himself through Megaton's front gate, broken and bleeding. He returned to his own house and Butch was left with nobody but the dog and memories of her…

Weeks crept into months and Butch rarely left the house, only to use the bathrooms or to buy food. The caps they had made together probably wouldn't run out for a while, he thought vaguely. And even then, he'd just sell a plasma rifle or two. He knew he wouldn't need a weapon again. The dog mostly sat by the front door, a forlorn look in his bi-coloured eyes as he finally began to give up hope that she would come home. Butch stroked his soft fur absently and dumped a Salisbury steak into his bowl…

Had it actually been a year? Time didn't have much meaning for Butch anymore. Nothing really did. He couldn't recall if he'd shed a tear when the dog had died. He remembered coming downstairs one day to find him in his usual place by the door, but one look told Butch that he was gone. He'd shown no signs of illness, and so the former Tunnel Snake concluded that he'd just given up on living. Butch wondered why he couldn't do that. It was enviable, really…

Perhaps another year passed and Butch looked up at the sound of a knock on his door. He opened it and was pushed right of his feet as Ellen DeLoria launched herself at her son, enveloping him in a bear hug. He stared at his weeping mother in confusion and then looked up as someone else entered the house.

"Hello Butch." Amata said, smiling down at him…

Ten years had passed and Butch was no longer alone. He told his children tales of his adventures with the Lone Wanderer, constantly earning a scolding from his mother for scaring them. Amata always smiled knowingly, and placed an understanding hand on his shoulder. Both parents wished for their children to grow into a world where everything she had fought for was a reality…

It still hurt a little, but Butch would always remember her. It had been a long time coming, but he had been given the strength to live on. And so long as her memory remained, so long as the world continued to grow towards peace and prosperity, Butch knew that truly, he could never be without her.

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**I wish I could stop writing about death! I will try to make the next one happy… Also, I know. You can't run with Stealth Boys on, or you'll get spotted but shhhh… :D**

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	10. Charon: Uncomfortable

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A/N:

I didn't want to give the wanderer a name in any of these stories, but this is a rewrite of my discontinued story 'So a girl walks into a bar' where her name is Nyx (Pronounced 'Nicks') the primordial goddess of night in ancient Greek mythology. Of course, she was the mother of Charon, The Ferryman, and hell if this girl treats him like a son…

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Charon had been a part of her little gang of misfits for a while now, but he would never cease to consider her to be the weirdest of them all. Never mind the wannabe gang-leader and ex-raider. Not to mention him, the 6 foot and then some ghoul.

He remembered his first impression of her; he'd been standing in his usual spot in the Ninth Circle, minding his own business and willing the drunks around him to mind theirs or risk becoming his business, when she'd walked in. Immediately, Charon had decided something about her;

She made him uncomfortable.

She'd made him uncomfortable arming herself with naught but a knife and dressing in questionable nightwear. She'd made him uncomfortable when she had waltzed up to him wearing a huge smile and started prattling on about 'Dad' and 'Muties' and 'Wanna get a Nuka Cola together?'* and hell, she'd made him uncomfortable when she'd looked hurt when he growled for her to Talk To Ahzrukhal and even more so when she'd plunked herself down at the bar, ordering Vodka and telling his asshole employer to 'Leave the bottle, Captain.'

Charon had gritted his teeth as that piece of slime kept _staring _at her while she threw back shots like they were purified water and eventually struck up a conversation with the girl, keeping his voice low. At first Charon had just assumed he was trying to sell her chems, but when the smoothskin had kept throwing glances over her shoulder at him, that idea sort of got trashed all to hell. Charon had figured that if they were in fact discussing him, he probably didn't want to know what they were saying because _everything _about that girl made him uncomfortable.

Had he known just what she was actually planning to do with him, there was a high chance that Charon would have ran, far away from the bar, screaming at the top of his lungs and fucking contract be damned. The ghoul had actually breathed a silent sigh of relief when the weird smoothskin got down off her bar stool (not without some drunken difficulty) and swayed over to the door. He'd figured she was probably crashing at Carol's Place and had he been a crueller man, he would probably have hoped she would trip and fall over the railing to her death on the way there.

Little had Charon known that it would probably have been a lot better for him if she had…

The next day, he'd found himself being shaken out of a daydream (of all the ways he wanted to kill Ahzrukhal) by somebody saying "hey, buddy…"

He'd looked down to see that it was _her_; the girl from the day before. A couple of conversations among customers had informed him that she was the one that the loudmouth DJ from Galaxy News Radio had apparently started a religion too. Granted, he'd been convinced that Three Dog exaggerated her exploits (he knew better now) but he'd still had to admit they sounded impressive. From what Charon had heard of her, the kid from Vault 101 was supposed to be, for lack of a better word, good.

'Good' was not a word one often heard in the Wasteland, he'd thought. Especially in Underworld… And never in the Ninth Circle. Oh, he'd heard Ahzrukhal say plenty of times that he was 'gonna get Greta good one of these days' but that was quite obviously a different thing. The girl who had stood before him was apparently some kind of hero, but Charon had written her down as just one thing in his book, and that was capital 'C' _Crazy._

"Don't worry, things will get better soon!" She'd said, for some reason trying to sound reassuring and failing miserably (Charon had by now learnt that the facial muscles needed to do so were woefully underdeveloped in that girl.) Before he could ask her what the hell she was talking about, she had danced up to Ahzrukhal, a big unnerving smile on her face.

"Ah, come to talk about Charon's contract have we?" Ahzrukhal had drawled and Charon blinked. What the heck was she doing…?

"Charon's contract?' She had replied, sounding outraged "Charon's contract? I don't give a SACK OF CAPS!" She'd all but yelled the last part and thrown a bulging, jingling bag down on the bar with a dramatic flourish.

… _That was a lame-ass joke, kid _Charon had wanted to say.

Ahzrukhal had seemed as shocked as Charon felt for a moment before he'd gotten his greasy mitts on the bag, untying the string and peering inside thoughtfully.

"It's all there, dontcha trust me?" She'd beamed and Ahzrukhal had smirked.

"Oh, after all the time I've been in business, I can tell it's the right amount. It feels…' He'd given the bag a shake "Right."

_Yeah, that's because you have a fucking set of scales under the bar _Charon had thought grimly _I hope it really is the right amount in there, kid..._

The girl had simply shrugged and asked for the contract and Ahzrukhal drew it from his pocket.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, miss... Nicky, was it?" He'd said, handing it to her

"_Nyx, _actually and don't go saying how 'appropriate' it is.' She'd said "Nyx and Charon, yeah I get it. We could have our own show and all that jazz."

"Miss _Nyx _then.' was Ahzrukhal's reply. Charon decided he hated the way he said her name. It just pissed him off that he could make something beautiful and unusual sound so goddamn _dirty._ "I'll give you the pleasure of informing Charon yourself."

_I'm not __**deaf**__, you bastard…_He'd fumed silently.

The girl (_Nyx,_ he'd reminded himself) sauntered up to him and before he could say anything, she had piped up;

"Wanna hear a joke?" She'd sing-songed.

Charon had just stared. And she'd continued as if he'd said yes;

"So a girl walks into a bar and this ridiculously tall guy is really rude to her.' She'd paused for a moment as her eyes sparkled "And so she goes and orders vodka and talks to the bar's owner. After a couple of shots, she begins to feel really light-headed. "I think I've contracted something!" She says and the bartender replies "I think you have!" And do you know what she had contracted?"

Charon hadn't dared to presume even the most obvious answer.

"You!' She'd cried after he'd not replied, whipping out his contract from where she'd concealed it in her… Cleavage. "Congratulations!"

He'd not been entirely sure what it was he was being congratulated on, but had been willing to let it slide because damn, she'd purchased his _contract_. Charon had wondered if she knew what she was getting herself into…

Though at that point he really should have been wondering if he knew what he'd just been dragged into.

"Sooo, what do you say?' She had obviously been trying to cajole him into thanking her, and perhaps, Charon thought, he should have, but all that'd came out of his mouth was the usual conditioned phrase which he would utter upon his contract changing hands… With one subtle difference.

"You purchased my contract.' He'd stated "That is good to know. Please, wait here while I take care of something." The words had barely left his mouth when he'd unhooked his shotgun and began striding towards the bar. He'd rapidly become aware of the fact that Nyx was following him closely and she'd crashed into his back when he'd stopped abruptly to look at her.

"… I take it you will not honour my request for you to wait?' He'd said stiffly. She'd shaken her head and he'd sighed "Alright… But it was for your own good."

Ahzrukhal had looked up when Charon reached the bar, new employer in tow. He'd smirked at him, looking slimier than day-old Iguana bits. "Come to say goodbye, Charon?" He'd asked and Charon smirked right back at him.

"Yes."

And then he'd blown that slimy face right off his skull.

He'd heard Nyx gasp sharply but ignored her in favour of directing another shotgun blast into his former employer, splattering his carcass all over the sorry excuse for a bar. Satisfied, Charon had turned to the girl.

"Alright, let's go."

Nyx had not answered. She'd stared wide-eyed at the carnage, and then lifted a shaky hand to point at the bar's refrigerator.

"You BLASTED him on top of the fridge!" She'd shrieked and Charon looked to see that a good chunk of what he assumed had once been Ahzrukhal's face had landed neatly on top of it. It took a lot of effort to hide a triumphant grin as he began to explain himself.

"Ahzrukhal was an evil bastard. He deserved-" She'd cut him off by jumping up and down like a Little Lamplighter on a combination of Nuka Cola and gumdrops.

"That. Was. AWESOME!' She'd yelled "He fully flew EVERYWHERE! Did you mean to get him on the fridge?"

. . .

Charon had wondered if it was cause for alarm that the girl was ridiculously excited for somebody who had just been witness to what a normal person would deem cold-blooded murder. The other patrons had not seemed to agree with her enthusiasm, he'd noted. In fact, they'd looked downright horrified… And just a little bit pissed off.

"Time to hit the road, kid." He'd muttered to which she'd nodded.

"Ok! Just lemme grab those caps back!" Nyx had said, picking up the bag and shaking it to dislodge any… Ahzrukhal from it.

They'd pretty much run out of the place and Charon had stolen a glance at the strange girl who had become his employer, a thousand questions running through his head. In the end he'd asked only one;

"Where the hell did you get all those caps from?" She'd grinned.

"Ahzrukhal."

"No, I meant- what?" Charon had blinked at her as she laughed.

"I stealth-boyed past you guys and took most of them out of his safe last night." She had informed him, causing Charon stop abruptly. Nyx had apparently forgotten they were running as she tried to turn to see why he had stopped and had collided with a nearby wall.

"… Ow."

Ignoring her pain, Charon had stridden up to her, backing her against the wall "do you realise that if you'd been caught _**I**_would have been the one who had to kill you?' He'd growled. She'd had the decency to look afraid, but Charon had been pretty certain she was just putting it on "Do you think I'd have enjoyed that?" Nyx had shrugged; the very picture of nonchalance.

"Dunno. You seemed to enjoy wasting Ahzrukhal back there."

Charon had shaken his head, thought better of it, and nodded.

"Yes, but that disgusting rat got what was coming to him.' He'd said "and you've obviously got a brain the size of a Radroach's, but you wouldn't have deserved what he got.' He'd moved away from her then and she'd frowned.

"… I take offense at the Radroach comment." He'd heard her mutter, but ignored it and extended his hand to her.

"Come on, we've got to run, kid." She'd stared at his hand for a moment then grinned and grasped it tightly. As they'd run out of Underworld, probably just imagining they were being chased by a dozen angry drunks, Charon had become quite aware of the warmth of her smooth palm against his rough one.

Outside, the frosted late-noon sunlight had lit the mall and Charon had noticed that Nyx's hair, which in the dim light of Underworld had seemed inky black, was in actual fact dyed a midnight blue. It looked good with her pale blue eyes and even paler white skin, but he'd gotten the feeling he knew where she'd gotten the hair done.

"… Did you let Snowflake do your hair?" He'd asked in vague disbelief. She had nodded.

"Yup. He did an awesome job, huh?" Nyx twirled around like some kind of demented ballerina as she had said this and Charon had sighed again (at that point he was beginning to suspect that he would be doing it a lot around her.)

"You do realise he's usually higher than a fucking kite, don't you?" He'd questioned.

"Yes." She'd replied like it was no big deal.

"And you do realise he probably used Nuka-Cola Quantum to make that colour, right?" He'd then tried.

"Yes."

"… Not a lot worries you." He'd commented and she'd grinned.

"No."

They had begun to walk, the day already starting to die. For once the sounds of gunfire had been distant and the most prominent sound had been the wind blowing between the ruined buildings of D.C…

… The same wind which had also begun to buffet the skirt of Nyx's extremely poor excuse for attire to the point of indecency. Charon had politely looked away and cleared his throat loudly.

"Nyx."

"Yes, Charon?"

"We've got to get you some more appropriate clothing."

"Hee-hee."

Charon supposed it would have been the beginning to a beautiful friendship… If only she wouldn't make him so goddamn uncomfortable.

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*Please refer to _this_ deviantart . com / art / Two-Different-Fan-Perspectives-117037659 it makes me laugh and is a cute statement about a lot of people who support Ghoul Love. It takes guts to support it, you know. So many people hung up on looks… Sigh.

Take care! :D

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